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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825985">The Non Christmas Themed Holiday Drabble Collection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1'>Snowfilly1</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale Has Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Baking, Candles, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves the Bentley (Good Omens), Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gift Giving, Historical, Ice Skating, M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), POV Warlock Dowling, Post-Canon, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), canon typical drinking, ineffable holiday 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:01:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,556</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles for the 2020 Ineffable Holiday prompts.<br/>&gt;<br/>17 Ornament Crowley the artist<br/>18 Caroling They always get the songs wrong<br/>19 Holiday movies 'We can do whatever you like, angel. Go out...'<br/>20 Christmas List Preparing to move house can bring up all sorts of memories<br/>21 Solstice ‘Yes, whenever you like, angel.’<br/>22 Yule They don't celebrate all the human festivals<br/>23 Gifts. Aziraphale doesn't give Crowley gifts, as such<br/>24. Christmas Eve. There was no room for him at the inn, of course.<br/>25. Santa 'Gabriel said...'<br/>26. Gloves or scarves. The gifts are small.<br/>27 Fruitcake. It’s one of the first things they do after lockdown<br/>28. Snowman. Aziraphale comes looking for him<br/>29. Silver and Gold. He'll never get used to Aziraphale sleeping alongside him<br/>30. Fireplace. It’s the only thing they disagree about in their new cottage.<br/>31. Champagne. ‘Taste this,’ Aziraphale urges.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Drabbles, Ineffable Holiday 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ice skating</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, almost a year in GO fandom and back to another collection of non-holiday themed fills for a collection. Still not much of a holiday person, still in love with these two.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1 Ice skating 'You drove her to Hell?' Aziraphale sounds more surprised about that than the frozen salesman road.<br/>2 Cocoa ‘You never got to finish your drink,’ Crowley says<br/>3 Candy canes 'Warlock, you don't even like peppermint.'<br/>4 Snowglobes Crowley's always had a soft spot for Vienna<br/>5 Naughty/nice Warlock thinks all the naughty and nice stuff sounds like the same thing<br/>6 Christmas crackers 'Is there anything unpleasant and noisy you didn't have a hand in creating?'<br/>7 Shopping There's things he's never got around to telling Aziraphale. Plus bonus Bentley drabble!<br/>8 Bell ringing. 'Why did you come?' Aziraphale asks<br/>9 Cookies 'I'm sorry, I don't think this is working.<br/>10 Hanukkah Crowley swallows hard. 'Help me?'<br/>11 Nativity 'Of course, I got all the Nativity stuff wrong.'<br/>12 Candles Fire still bothers Crowley<br/>13 Jumper 'It's red. Matches your scales.'<br/>14 Fairy lights They’ve never actually talked about moving in together<br/>15 Mistletoe 'Why is there mistletoe everywhere, dearest?'<br/>16 Tree trimming Crowley stares at the wreckage of an orchard<br/>17 Ornament Crowley the artist</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'Who's idea was that?' Aziraphale demands with the enthusiasm of the mostly drunk. </p><p>Crowley drags his wine away from flailing angel limbs. 'Not mine. You any idea how hard it is to get a flat surface when it's made out of people?  The Bentley hates it.'</p><p>'You drove her to Hell?' He sounds more surprised about that than the frozen salesman road. </p><p>'Sure. Wanted to know if I could.'</p><p>'And?'</p><p>'The Erics were ice-skating on it. Beez was yelling. She went on strike.'</p><p>Aziraphale laughs; Crowley smiles. Wonders if he can persuade Aziraphale to come driving on a proper ice-road.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cocoa / Hot cider</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Three days and I'm behind. Blame 2020. Sorry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'You never got to finish your drink,' Crowley says softly. </p><p>'Huh?' Aziraphale looks up from assessing the new books. </p><p>'You had a mug of cocoa and you never got to finish it. Agnes wrote about it. I saw in the book, after...And I thought after, when I thought...what a stupid thought... you'd never got to finish your cocoa.'</p><p>He crosses the room in a couple of quick strides, intending to wrap Crowley in his arms. The demon shakes his head. </p><p>'Hang on a minute.' Crowley disappears into the kitchen, comes back with a mug. 'Here, I made you another one.'</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Candy canes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'Warlock, you don't even like peppermint,' Nanny tries.</p><p>'But this is different! It's in a sweet!'</p><p>'And it's July.'</p><p>'You always say I can do things whenever I want, Nanny.'</p><p>That's probably Aziraphale's influence. He'd never  understood delayed gratification. </p><p>'And we need to make caramel, so we get to set fire to the sugar and it'll be so much fun.'</p><p>'Set fire to things? Why didn't you say so earlier, Hellspawn? Go wash your hands, I'll find the scales.'</p><p>Warlock has never seemed more human than now, tonardo-ing his way round the kitchen, making candy canes in the summer sun.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Snowglobes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Did I end up researching the history of snowglobes for this, and realise I'd spent a whole evening doing so? Yes. They were invented in Vienna.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley's always had a soft spot for Vienna. It's warm for a start, and all the little alleyways hold memories of drinking coffee with Aziraphale. He's glad to find it mostly unchanged after the Wars and his long sleep. </p><p>He's mooching, looking for something to do, when he spots a shop with what looks like brightly coloured spheres in the window. And...white flickering stuff? </p><p>Curiosity gets the better of him and he stops. The things are little globes, made of glass with figures inside them. He can't quite decide if they're toys or ornaments. </p><p>The shopkeeper senses him looking; picks one up and shakes it gently. The white stuff falls over the figure, coating the fir tree in what looks like snow. It's charming.</p><p>He buys it for Aziraphale; arranges to have it shipped to England. </p><p>***<br/>The next time he sees it, it's half-wrapped in paper and squashed into a crate of Aziraphale's belongings that they haven't unpacked yet. The artificial snow is still drifting down onto the plastic tree, shaken up by the journey. </p><p>'We'll have to go to Vienna again,' he calls across to Aziraphale.</p><p>***<br/>The shop is still there. Aziraphale buys him one this time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Naughty and nice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Warlock gets a list of acceptable naughty behaviours from Brother Francis. They include 'you can steal books if people aren't looking after them,' 'sometimes a sword is really useful' (he gets membership to a fencing club for his tenth birthday)and a whole education in nasty words in other languages. Francis says they're words for people who walk on the grass or mistreat ducks, but Warlock doodles them in schoolbooks and mutters them behind his dad's back.</p><p>He gets a similar list from Nanny. Only these are nice behaviours he can indulge in even while he's trampling countries  underfoot. Apparently, you can bring people grown up drinks even if you're meant to hate them. (He overhears a whispering argument about that one and his list says 'orange juice' in the morning but he remembers what Nanny wrote.) </p><p>You can rescue people, if other people want to hurt them. Because that ruins their plan.</p><p>And looking after flowers is always a good thing. Because it makes Francis happy, although Nanny never explains this one in any detail.</p><p>Warlock thinks all the naughty and nice stuff sounds like it's the same thing, really. But he doesn't tell them. Grownups don't need to know.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Christmas Crackers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'Honestly, Crowley, is there anything horrible, noisy and not really necessary that you weren't involved in creating?' </p><p>Crowley shrugs. 'I didn't see you complaining about the printing press.'</p><p>'Not necessary, I said, you fiend.'</p><p>He grins at Aziraphale's affronted expression and leans in for a kiss; gets tapped on the nose instead. </p><p>'I know you were involved in glitter cannons. You came here and told me so. Twice, because you were drunk the first time. I remember you yelling about the commendation you'd got for Christmas crackers for weeks.'</p><p>'And?'</p><p>'My dear, I really must draw the line at Furbys.'</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Furbys are demonic and there is nothing you can say to change my mind.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Shopping</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm an idiot. I wrote the first drabble, lost it and wrote another one, then found the original. So have both.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's things he's never got around to telling Aziraphale. Not quite secrets, but not shared with him either. </p><p>This, ferreting around on the damp bottom shelf of an overloaded bookcase, kneeling in dust that even demonic miracles aren't going to shift from his jeans and straining his eyes to peer at faded titles, is very much one of them. </p><p>It's the fourth shop today. The Bentley never complains about long-distance shopping trips, although the laws of physics don't always enjoy their unexpected day off. </p><p>Some shop, somewhere in England, must have a copy of the anthology Aziraphale mentioned last night. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Crowley hasn't spent a lot of money in his life. Not on himself, not just because he wants something. He's probably spent more on the angel, even though they go centuries without seeing each other. </p><p>Now...well, he wants. </p><p>Craves. </p><p>He turns his collar up against the evening chill. Stares through the glass.  The black paint, silver metalwork is beautiful. </p><p>He knows he'll be back here in the morning. He'll do this the human way, with cash and paper and something signed with his new, almost human, name. </p><p>And maybe, maybe, if he's lucky, he'll get to drive Aziraphale in it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Bell Ringing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a little historical one. I know when I think it is, but there's been other days like that in London, so who really knows.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bells are ringing. Crowley risks a glance sideways to Aziraphale. The angel isn't crying, if only because he's blinking furiously. </p><p>Crowley swallows hard. Leans against the bookshop wall and watches humanity seethe pass them, a riot of colour and celebration. The air tastes of joy, relief, grief. </p><p>'Why did you come?' Aziraphale asks in the end. He's standing in his shop doorway. Watching over Crowley's shoulder. </p><p>'I wanted...' He's not sure what he had wanted, aside from Aziraphale's presence. </p><p>'I'm glad you did.' </p><p>Aziraphale's fingers brush against his wrist and they listen to the bells under the setting sun.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Making cookies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The self doubt and worry is on Aziraphale's side this time.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'Why is this so complicated?'</p><p>The dough? mixture? whatever doesn't answer. Aziraphale pokes at it and sighs. The whole thing looks rather too doughy and not at all appetizing. </p><p>'You alright in there, angel?'</p><p>He doesn't answer; Crowley wanders over and comes to stand with him. </p><p>'I'm sorry, I don't think these are going to work.'</p><p>'Hey, what are you apologising for?'</p><p>'Because these are messed up. I don't think they'll be any good to eat. And I said I'd make us dessert.'  </p><p>'It's alright, angel. You're allowed to make mistakes.'</p><p>Crowley squeezes his hand. </p><p>Aziraphale tries to believe him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Hanukkah</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Skirting around the edge of a panic attack here but nothing too bad. (Standing 6 inches away from the thing you've been having nightmares about is not a sensible coping strategy, even with your angel there)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'Was that you in the Temple?' Crowley asks. </p><p>Aziraphale shakes his head and flicks a finger against the menorah. Flames glance into life; his hand finds Crowley's and squeezes without him ever looking round. </p><p>Crowley squeezes back and breathes deeply. Deliberately. </p><p>'No. Always half thought it might have been you.'</p><p>'Nah. We need to sit down one day and figure out exactly what bits through history were and weren't us.' He's not looking at the flames, but they're filling his mind regardless. </p><p>'Are you sure about this?'</p><p>'Yeah.' He swallows hard. 'Help me?'</p><p>'Always.' Aziraphale leads Crowley away, out of sight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Nativity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Gabriel being Gabriel.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'I got the Nativity thing all wrong, of course,' and there's such acceptance in Aziraphale's voice that Crowley's heart aches. </p><p>'What do you mean?' he asks. </p><p>'Oh, it was all Gabriel's thing. You know how he always gets the big projects. I was meant to reserve the rooms for everyone, but I got it all wrong again, and well...You know the story. Poor Mary, I felt terrible for her.'</p><p>'No. No, Aziraphale, don't say it like that.'</p><p>'Why not? Gabriel was livid. I made such an awful mistake.'</p><p>Crowley kisses Aziraphale's temple, tries to banish a 2,000 year old hurt.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Candles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a sequel to Hanukkah , but doesn't rely on anything from that aside from Crowley having issues with flames.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's cliché. It's soft. It's romantic. Crowley ought to be rolling his eyes but instead,he's setting the table for two, and he's made the bed and...he stops that line of thought before it leads him anywhere. </p><p>He's getting dessert out when Aziraphale arrives. Rain's slicked his hair down, left tracks over his face that glimmer in the candlelight. </p><p>The angel pauses at the kitchen door. His smile is like the sunrise. </p><p>'Happy anniversary,' Crowley says. </p><p>'The candles?'</p><p>'Oh...I forgot,' and it's true, he'd been so focussed he hadn't even thought about them. </p><p>'Oh, my darling.' Aziraphale kisses him. 'Happy anniversary.'</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Jumper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All dialogue, which gives Crowley a chance to swear a bit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'No.'</p><p>'It's warm.'</p><p>'No.'</p><p>'It's got little patterns on it and everything, and it's red, matches your scales.'</p><p>'Fuck off.'</p><p>'You like wearing jumpers, Crowley. You've still got my blue one you borrowed last winter.'</p><p>'Fine, you can have it back. Snakes don't wear clothes, angel. '</p><p>'They do! Adam showed me some videos on the Youtube. And you always snuggle up <br/>'on me when you're a snake.'</p><p>'Because I like snuggling on you, not because I'm cold!'</p><p>'Oh...in that case...'</p><p>'Look, I'll wear the stupid snake jumper if I can keep coiling up on you.'</p><p>'Of course, dearest. '</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Fairy lights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's not like they've talked about moving in together. Crowley just sauntered back into the shop after the Ritz, and hadn't left since. </p><p>There's CDs Aziraphale never brought scattered in the backroom, black scarves and flashy jackets draped over chairs. And sunglasses everywhere; Crowley's stopped wearing them when they're indoors (at home, Aziraphale hardly dares call it). </p><p>Tonight, in the dark of a London evening, there's another new thing: a string of fairy-lights, wonky, offset, like a rainbow around the door.  It looks...well, it doesn't look like anything of Crowley's or anything of his, but for something that's theirs...It's perfect.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Mistletoe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Canon typical drunken rambling!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'Why's there mistletoe everywhere, dearest?'</p><p>'It'ssss a parasite, right? Bad for plants.' Crowley waved a hand, spilt most of his wine. 'Bad for plants.'</p><p>'So why is it in your flat?'</p><p>'Reminder. Remind the plantssss.'</p><p>Aziraphale rescued Crowley's glass. 'Do you want to sober up a bit?'</p><p>'Nah. Good for people, humans kiss under it. Do you know that? Humans better than plants. They get a kiss. I'd like a kiss.'</p><p> 'You don't need mistletoe to kiss me, you know.'</p><p>'Mistletoe is for the plants,' Crowley insisted, and pulled Aziraphale under a bunch of it with no plants in sight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Tree trimming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley stares at the wreckage of what had been an orchard; splintered trees tangled in brambles.  A cottage.</p><p>He sighs.</p><p>It would have been nice. It had felt homely. </p><p>'What a ruin, eh? Couple more broken windows, they could sell it as a haunted house.' He tries not to sound disappointed. Aziraphale deserves somewhere better to live. </p><p>'Oh. Oh, I rather like it.'</p><p> 'It's a mess, angel.'</p><p>Aziraphale smiles at him. 'I think...I think we could fix it. Together.'</p><p>A year later, trimming branches and admiring the first blossom,  Crowley wonders what he ever did to deserve this much happiness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Ornament</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've played around with the idea of Crowley the glass maker before, and one day, one day, I will write the full story. But not today, this is just a scene from near the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is a room at the back of their cottage. One which Aziraphale hardly enters, unless it's to say 'would you like a drink, dear?' or 'we need to leave in ten minutes.'</p><p>Concrete floor. A fire banked up, but also stoves. Shelves. </p><p>Crowley is safe here; loses track of time. Long fingers that once shaped stars shaping glass or metal; hair tied up, arms bare to the sting of fire that never matches nebulas but reminds him just the same. </p><p>Finished ornaments crowd the shelves, a mass of colours. Not all of them are beautiful but he loves them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Caroling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW Warning for grief / mourning relating to a long ago but still keenly felt death.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They have the carols all wrong. Crowley hates them; the twisting of events, changing the time of year. </p><p>He never says anything. Just ducks his head down and walks past pretending he can't hear. </p><p>Aziraphale's hand brushes against his arm, grounding. </p><p>'Shall we eat somewhere else?'</p><p>'If you don't mind,' as if he wouldn't suffer through anything Aziraphale might want.</p><p>There's a long pause. 'The songs make you unhappy, don't they?' </p><p>It's an old grief, so old that it shouldn't still hurt. The scar should be healed up by now. Crowley swallows and doesn't answer, and Aziraphale takes his hand.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Holiday movies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley's pacing and rambling. 'We can...whatever you like, angel. Go places, see things. Anything you want.'</p><p>He looks as exhausted as Aziraphale feels, the elation of being alive and having won worn off. </p><p>'I don't think that's what I want, Crowley. I think...maybe we could stay here for a few days? Rest? A holiday, if you like?'</p><p>Crowley darts a glance at him. 'Both of us?'</p><p>'Of course. If you want.'</p><p>Crowley's nodding as though he's forgotten what words are, circling back to stand alongside Aziraphale's chair. </p><p>'I'll get us some films to watch, angel. Start with a movie night?'</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Christmas List</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one turned into a double drabble when I wasn't looking. 200 words exactly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale's remembering why he's never been impressed with moving house the human way. It's hard work, it takes too long and nothing fits anywhere. But it seems important to Crowley that they go through his flat together; that Aziraphale listens to his stories about the most insignificant items, and if it takes time, well...They've got an eternity of that ahead of them. </p><p>He takes their tea to the room Crowley seems to have used as storage. Finds him sprawled on the floor flicking through sheets of paper that are too colouful to belong here.</p><p>He's learnt not to ask questions. It's been an exercise in discovering what Crowley's comfortable sharing and when, so he sits next to his partner. Passes him a drink.</p><p>Minutes ease by. He recognises some of the scrawled artwork. Recognises the twist of Crowley's face as he drags his fingers across the wobbly handwriting. </p><p>'Some of Warlock's stuff. They were gonna throw it out.'</p><p>Aziraphale touches his arm, the back of his hand. Says nothing. </p><p>'One of his Christmas lists, look.'</p><p>Crowley folds all the sheets away, stares away from Aziraphale. 'I want to take this. Til he can have his own stuff again.'</p><p>'Of course.'</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Solstice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Yes. Whenever you like, angel. Anytime. Yes.’ Crowley’s voice, low and reverent, sounds like a prayer.</p><p>Aziraphale pulls him close, kisses him and Crowley goes along with it gladly. They come back to the conversation later, in bed, a shared tangle of limbs and blankets.</p><p>‘Soon?’ </p><p>‘Mmm,’ Crowley agrees, stroking across Aziraphale’s ribs. ‘On the solstice?’</p><p>Aziraphale nods, twines his fingers into Crowley’s hair. ‘If you want, darling. Why then?’</p><p>He laughs in response. ‘Longest night. Good choice for a wedding night, don’t you think?’ </p><p>‘Oh, you fiend.’ Aziraphale kisses him again, laughs with him. ‘Of course we can.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>An eternal thank you, as ever, to Sir Terry Pratchett, who I stole this from. I forget which book, but Nanny Ogg points out the Summer Solstice is a bad day for a wedding because it’s the shortest night and you know... that’s no fun. </p><p>Crowley’s just flipped the idea.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Yule</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Neither of them pay much attention to human festivals. They've lived too long, in too many different countries, to celebrate them all. </p><p>Sometimes there's something that's too large or too close to home to ignore; the council string lights across the front of the bookshop every November and passersby remark on how brightly they shine.</p><p>Crowley enjoys fireworks;  Aziraphale's followed him to ceremonial displays for centuries. </p><p>Yule is one they do celebrate; almost as old as them. There's a peace to it, the log and fire and feast. And this year, with their hands tangled together, an openness as well.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Exchanging Gifts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale does not give Crowley gifts, as such. No elaborate handovers of carefully wrapped presents.  </p><p>Instead, there's a couch with a tattered blanket which is always the right weight and never falls off however much Crowley twists.  A door which is never  warded against him. An immediate answer if he phones.  </p><p>Unhesitating comfort when he's hurt, and a bottle of his favourite wine on cold evenings, and a healthy line in teasing whenever Crowley's hair has approached styles that were bordering on 'not very cool at all.'</p><p>Aziraphale's given Crowley a home and love and everything he could ever want.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't care how much they love each other, Bastille Crowley deserved all the teasing about his hair.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Christmas Eve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I stole one and a bit sentences direct from 'Away in A Manager.' </p><p>This is has rather strong 'my family don't want me and I'm lonely' vibes to it, if that's something you'd rather avoid.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's no room at the inn. Not for him. Of course there isn't. Aziraphale's used to spending nights outside, looking in at families and friends and assuring himself that guardians, protectors, don't get lonely. He's got all of Heaven for companionship, after all. There's no need to feel like this. </p><p>The cattle are lowing. </p><p>A baby cries. </p><p>The starlight hangs heavy everything. He doesn't belong in any of it, isn't wanted for it. He doesn't mind. Not really. </p><p>'Angel? Angel, is that you?'</p><p>Crowley saunters over and sits down alongside him without asking. The starlight blends their shadows into one.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Santa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Swearing aimed at someone who deserves it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'They asked me to be Santa for something they're doing in town this year,' Aziraphale says as he lets himself back into their cottage. </p><p>Crowley stands to kiss his husband. 'Are you going to?'</p><p>Aziraphale goes to twist his hands together; Crowley sees the movement and grabs his wrists, pushes a kiss against them. </p><p>'Hey, none of that, darling. What's wrong?'</p><p>'Gabriel said...'</p><p>'Oh fuck Gabriel. Do you want to?'</p><p>'I think so?'</p><p>Crowley pulls Aziraphale close, wraps his arms around the angel as though love can protect him from everything Gabriel said. 'In that case, I think you should.'</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Gloves, scarves or mittens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first few times, he thinks that Aziraphale must find his bare skin offensive in some way. </p><p>The gifts are small: gloves to cover the sharpness of his fingers, a scarf to snag down the wilderness of his hair, a jacket that's as warm as sunlight. All things that hide him from view. </p><p>It's not until Aziraphale says 'you look cold, my dear,' and presses a hat into his hands that Crowley realises. </p><p>Angels are meant to protect. It's something he can pass off as a blessing, helping someone in distress. It's the only way Aziraphale can give him anything.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Fruit cake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mentions of lockdown</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s one of the first things they do together after Lockdown: cluttering the too small space of Aziraphale’s kitchen with bags of dried fruit and plates of weighed ingredients.</p><p>It gives both of them something safe to say; ‘can you crack the eggs, please?’ ‘gimme those sultanas, angel.’ The real words are too daunting just yet.</p><p>Gives them an excuse to avoid touching each other as Crowley saunters across with a brandy bottle, but a reason to still stand close.</p><p>Neither of them are ready for more at the moment and the oven warmed kitchen is all the haven they need.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I pillaged my memories of making fruit cake with my Nan for this; I’ve also done a lot of stress baking over the past year. There’s something soothing in it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Snowman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale comes to finds him eventually; tugs at his wrist, drags him back to awareness. </p><p>'Come on, dearest. Come inside, please.'</p><p>As if he's ever been able to refuse Aziraphale anything. Snow blind, aching with cold, he stumbles down from the roof and inside the flat. Aziraphale's fingers are laced with his, never letting go. </p><p>'Sorry. 'm dripping on your things.'</p><p>'Nonsense.' There's a snap and Crowley's wearing dry clothes. There's a blanket draped around him.  </p><p>He buries his face against Aziraphale's shoulder and lets himself be held. Doesn't say anything about snow falling like stars, but Aziraphale knows anyway.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Silver and Gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here be sap.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He's never going to get used to Aziraphale sleeping alongside him. The curve of his neck and shoulder on display, the warmth of his back against Crowley's stomach; it's a trust that he's still awed by. Still amazed that he can have skin against skin and his hand resting over the angel's heart, their legs twined together and the blankets bunched on his side of the bed because he runs cold, even sleeping with his lover. </p><p>Traffic is murmuring outside. Dust motes hang golden in the sunshine as it turns Aziraphale's hair to silver. Crowley is completely and utterly content.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Fireplace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s one of the few things they disagree on about their new cottage. Crowley wants a fireplace in the front room; Aziraphale doesn’t.</p><p>He can’t even be near the angel right now. He’s stood in the doorway, staring into their kitchen because if he looks, he won’t have a hope of winning.</p><p>‘I’m not having it, Crowley. Don’t be stupid.’</p><p>‘You’ve had a fire every place you’ve ever lived, angel. You’re not going to miss out just cos of me.’</p><p>‘And you’re not going to hurt yourself just because of me!’</p><p>‘I’m-‘</p><p>‘You walked the long way home Thursday because of the bonfire.’</p><p>Crowley slumps. Aziraphale hurries to him, wraps in arms and a suggestion of wings; so much love it threatens to overwhelm him.</p><p>‘Oh darling. My darling Crowley. We’ll sort this out.’</p><p>Clinging to his partner, Crowley wills himself to believe.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Champagne</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Taste this,’ Aziraphale urges and pushes a glass into his hand.</p><p>‘What is it?’</p><p>‘Wine. Go on, you’ll like it.’ Their fingers brush; Aziraphale keeps his hand there. </p><p>The angel’s always been a natural at temptations and Crowley doesn’t even try to resist.</p><p>The bubbles tickle his lips. It’s soft and sweet and not like anything he’s tasted before; it feels in his mouth like starlight felt on his skin when he had a different name. ‘It’s lovely, angel. Thank you.’ </p><p>Aziraphale smiles.</p><p>***</p><p>They drink champagne on their wedding day, kiss the warmth of it from each other’s lips.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And there we are, all done, and it’s only Easter! </p><p>I’ve been mostly writing zine stuff lately (five fics!) and a very long fic which is now just over the 90k, but I’m hoping to start some of the Bingo Card one shots soon. </p><p>I’d love to hear which of these was your favourite, and thank you for putting up with my woeful time keeping yet again!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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